


Reasons Why Malfoy is Making Harry's Life Hell

by onbeinganangel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And The Briefest Mention of Kink Although They Don't Get Up to Anything Spicy, And a little clueless, Auror Partners, Banter, Bickering, Draco Malfoy is a Tease, Harry Potter is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Pining, So much bickering, There's Also a Squeaky Chair, These Two May as well be Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:42:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27209824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onbeinganangel/pseuds/onbeinganangel
Summary: Harry thought there would be infinite reasons why sharing an office with Draco Malfoy would make his life hell. There are. Only they're not the reasons he thought they'd be when they were first made partners.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 31
Kudos: 219





	Reasons Why Malfoy is Making Harry's Life Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thestarryknight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarryknight/gifts).



> This is for the lovely Starry who sent me this little prompt from a tumblr post: "We work in the same office and you have a goddamn squeaky chair and you wONT FUCKING STOP SQUEAKING IT BECAUSE YOU KNOW IT ANNOYS ME"
> 
> Here's your squeaky chair oneshot, my lovely!
> 
> Special thanks go to [emilattes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilatte) for the beta work and for the girls groupchat for helping me come up with Draco's fantastically bad take on Muggle expressions <3

Much to Hermione’s chagrin, the day that Harry was told he was to share an office _and become partners with Auror Malfoy,_ he had perhaps one or two or six too many beers and basically forced her to listen to his interminable list of “ _reasons why Malfoy is going to make my life hell.”_

Harry had been so drunk or so annoyed or so distracted that he let Hermione do whatever she wanted so she had happily propped her pregnancy swollen feet on Harry’s lap, held onto her gin-less tonic for dear life and, probably out of a cocktail of love and exhaustion, let him ramble away about the injustice of the world, how it had been _7 bloody years_ since the war and argue that “they could get _literally anyone else_ to babysit Malfoy, really” and “ _why did it have to be me”?_

It wasn’t like Harry wasn’t already annoyed about the whole thing at that point. Malfoy had been top of the class at pretty much every module of Auror training, which had rubbed just about everyone the wrong way. Malfoy was the only one (out of a training class of 27 Auror cadets) who had been brave or stupid enough not to purposefully lose to Harry in every training duel, the only one who had given Harry a fight and left him _sweaty and panting but happy and satisfied._

The most annoying thing about it all was that Malfoy was tall and handsome now he didn’t look like Death itself and snarky and sassy in all the right ways, but he was also competent, diligent, hard-working and really fucking clever. It was annoying how everyone else would all but bow and kiss Harry’s feet while Malfoy would say shit like “Potter, are you even qualified to do this?” or “Oi, are you paying attention? We’ve got criminals to catch here.”

Malfoy was annoying in the way he always had been: he was in Harry’s every waking thought (when he wasn’t in Harry’s sleeping thoughts too) except that now, instead of thinking he was up to something, he had realised Malfoy was so brilliant Harry would follow him into battle any time, no questions asked.

Essentially, Harry had had a Malfoy shaped problem in his life since he was 11 — he isn’t sure why he thought things would change.

The thing is, it’s been over a year since the day that when Harry barged into Hermione and Ron’s already half-touched and demanded that Hermione listen to the reasons why Malfoy would make his life hell, and he’s realising now that not many items on that list turned out to be true. _Malfoy is still annoying, of course he is. Just for very different reasons._

As Harry strolls into their office to the smell of bacon and incredible coffee that is definitely _not_ from the cafeteria, he thinks: 

Updated Reason Number One Why Malfoy is Making My Life Hell: _he looks like that. That_ being actual sex on legs (endlessly long legs, too) even though he’s wearing the exact same uniform as Harry, down to the exact same boots. The only slight difference being Draco prefers a forearm holster to keep his wand in _(and to hide his Mark, not that he’s really ever said that)_ and, well, he’s a little tidier than Harry. Not that Harry is _untidy,_ he just doesn’t know how Draco keeps the fabric of his shirt looking that crips or his wine red cloak looking so soft wash after wash, or how his trousers aren’t all creased after he’s been sitting _all day_. He also doesn’t know how he can sit for hours and hours on end with everything buttoned up and the material of both his shirt and trousers so tight that it’s visibly straining against his muscles. And there’s the matter of his stubble — _yes, stubble_ — and his artfully tousled almost-white hair (a little longer on top, shaved shorter at the bottom) and the two small black hoop earrings on his helix just poking through from under his hair.

“Potter. You’re…” and the fucker mimics pulling his sleeve back and looking at a watch he’s not wearing “three minutes late. Do you think that’s acceptable? Is this a Chosen One thing? Because no one cares about that nonsense anymore, you know?” Oh, okay then, here we go:

Updated Reason Number Two Why Malfoy is Making Harry’s Life Hell: he talks to Harry like he’s just a normal person, which he is. Malfoy cuts him even less slack than Hermione and Ginny and that’s saying something. He doesn’t mince words, isn’t afraid to tell Harry when he’s wrong or when he’s got spinach stuck in his teeth. Harry never thought he would, really, but the thing is… he’s started to realise that Malfoy means it as banter. It’s kind of sweet, really. It’s not mean, it’s just… him treating Harry like a normal human being. It’s about time everyone else started doing it too.

Harry’s just not used to it. It makes his head hurt, especially because once upon a time, he confessed to Hermione how baffled he was about it and she simply said “have you considered Malfoy is just being nice to you? You are work partners after all, you spend a lot of time together. Has it occurred to you that you’re like… friends?” And that had made it so, so much worse. They are _not friends._

“I got you a bacon sandwich and a coffee because I know you’re useless and we have a ton of shit to do today. It’s Friday and I have a date and I won’t be stuck here with you instead of getting properly laggered and shaggered.” 

_Laggered and shaggered_ was one of many Malfoy Colloquialisms: Updated Reason Number Three Why Malfoy is Making Harry’s Life Hell. Draco Malfoy has the unfortunate habit of re-working Muggle phrases and sayings to his own liking. _Laggered and shaggered_ was Harry’s least favourite because 1) Draco doesn’t even like beer, 2) shaggered is not a fucking word, and, most importantly, 3) it usually accompanies a re-telling of one of Malfoy’s many sexual escapades.

Might as well make that Updated Reason Number Four Why Malfoy is Making Harry’s Life Hell: Malfoy is very candid and very shameless about sex.

It’s not _a problem, as such._ There just happens to be a combination of things when Malfoy is telling Harry about his little weekend tales of _debauchery and kink_ that make Harry’s head go a little fuzzy and, to be absolutely frank, often make his cock twitch in his pants and show interest. It’s something about Draco’s low timbre, the rhythm in which he says his words making the most mundane detail sound indescribably dirty and the fact that, judging by the picture Harry was able to paint based on snippets from several of Malfoy’s encounters, the two of them are incredibly sexually compatible. As if the world wasn’t enough of a joke.

Harry grabs his sandwich and coffee with a mumbled “thanks” and sits at his desk with a loud huff. Malfoy leans back on his chair and, for the first time that day, Harry hears the sound that has become the bane of his existence.

Updated Reason Number Five Why Malfoy is Making Harry’s Life Hell: Malfoy’s bloody office chair that he won’t oil, won’t spell fixed and won’t allow Harry to touch at all or even set a localised _Silencio_ on.

Through a mouthful of soft bread, deliciously greasy bacon and the perfect amount of brown sauce, Harry says: “Draco.”

Malfoy leans forward again, then crosses his legs. This simple small movement wrings out three loud squeaks from the aforementioned chair from hell. 

“Yes, Potter? Have you started on that report yet? You’re very nearly five minutes late now, you know?” And with that, he moves just slightly, and there’s another _squeaky-squeaky_ sound as he does.

“I am going to murder you and bash that fucking chair to pieces if you don’t fix it,” he grits out after washing down his bite of sandwich with a sip of perfect just-as-he-likes-it coffee. It’s baffling how Draco Malfoy knows his coffee order better than Ron or Hermione. 

“You’re so aggressive, Potter. Have your breakfast and fill in that report, for the love of all things holy.”

Harry does, to the horrible, horrible soundtrack that is Draco’s chair, squeaking away. And why must he wiggle about in his chair _all the time_? 

When the report is finished, a couple hours later, he floats it onto Draco’s desk and asks “What else?”

“Do I look like I’m your father, Potter? Is this why they made me your partner? Because you need someone to guide you through how to do your own bloody job?”

And that is the very essence of what half of their days consist of and have consisted of for the past year and a bit, since the fateful day Harry got called into Robards’ office and was simply told “Potter, I’m partnering you with Malfoy and I’ll hear no complaints, is that clear?”

Things could be worse. The other half of their days is Harry’s favourite though. Exploring leads, talking to witnesses, Harry lying down on the floor of their office coming up with crazier and crazier theories while Malfoy sits on the sofa and scribbles, and, of course, running after people, the occasional back and forth of hexes and curses on _a very good day._ It helps that Malfoy runs on adrenaline just as much as Harry.

He may even have mentioned it to Ron over a few pints, once upon a time, that Harry really enjoyed watching Draco run. It was exhilarating, the way his eyes flashed dangerously before he set off, the way they went from steel grey to almost black in mere seconds. The way his thin mouth opened, sometimes his pink tongue poked out to wet his lips in concentration as he managed spell after spell. It was a constant conflicting battle for Harry how much he appreciated every time a defensive spell was set by Malfoy over the both of them — Harry wasn’t much of a defensive guy these days — but also how often he found himself staring in wonder at how predatory Malfoy was in these situations and how much Harry would like to be his prey.

Just a couple of weeks back, Ron had finally snapped. “Will you please ask him out? You’re driving me nuts, mate.” And Harry had spluttered and coughed beer all over himself before squawking a “What!?”

“Harry, please. We all know you’re half in love with Malfoy,” was Seamus’ helpful contribution to the conversation. And Harry moved to the bar at record speed to get everyone shots in a desperate attempt to never have that conversation again.

So what if Harry had a bit of a thing for Malfoy. Harry knew enough about Malfoy’s sex life to know he would never settle for Harry, that was for certain.

“Potter, are you even in this office right now or did you leave when I wasn’t looking and left your body behind? Potter! Potter! HARRY! _”_ Draco was now standing right in front of Harry with an annoyed expression on his face, snapping his fingers furiously.

“Sorry. Got distracted.” _Just casually thinking about how we’re not even friends but I kind of fancy you, you know how it goes. Oh god. He actually does fancy Malfoy. Fuck. He needs to get his shit together._

“I could tell,” Draco drawls. He shoves a pile of folders and papers into Harry’s arms and says “Do you mind taking this down to Dawson on level 3? Just means it’s actually filed properly before the weekend and we won’t get asked where things are or aren’t on Monday morning.”

“Er. Yeah, sure,” he grabs the papers and walks towards the door.

“Potter, please get yourself another coffee, or something sugary, I don’t care what it takes. We’ve got a long few hours to go and it’s gonna be very hard if your brain isn’t even here.” Draco says as he sits down. His chair seems to somehow squeak even louder as he does, just to make sure that Harry hears it from the door.

“Sure thing.”

It’s not to say he dawdles, but Harry definitely takes his time getting to level 3, chatting with Dawson and his desk mate whose name Harry never remembers _(Cecilia? Clarissa? Constance?),_ asking about their weekend plans and other small talk nonsense. He grabs a coffee for himself and one for Malfoy and then the elevator stops on level 5 and he thinks he may as well pop in to see Hermione. She’ll know what to do.

“I think I fancy Malfoy,” he says with no preamble, unceremoniously plopping down on the soft blue chair in Hermione’s office.

She doesn’t even lift her head from the piece of parchment she’s scribbling down on. “And this is news… to you?”

“Err, yeah? Kind of. Not really. It’s getting worse, I guess?” 

“Harry.” He doesn’t know what to make of her tone of voice.

“What!? I don’t know what to do, ‘mione.”

In retrospect, spending 20 minutes in Hermione’s office dissecting why he’s jealous of Draco’s rotating bed partners, why he hasn’t actually done anything to fix the chair and why he wants to die every time he walks into the office was just giving Draco reason to complain about him for the rest of the day. And he’s let Hermione drink Draco’s coffee. _Jesus Christ, he’s a mess._

He can hear _the bloody chair_ squeaking before he even opens the door to the office.

“Took your sweet time,” he hears Draco just as he steps fully into the office.

He replies with a noncommittal hum before sitting down and grabbing the next file on the pile. He finishes three more reports, files seven different witness statements into the correct folders and updates the log properly with legible handwriting because Malfoy will lose it if he doesn’t. Draco brings them both lunch from the cafeteria and they eat as they work because they do really have a shitton of paperwork to get through. 

Harry is trying not to think about how he’s just unloaded all his feelings onto Hermione mere hours ago and how he’s just admitted to himself that he has a massive crush on his Auror partner who happens to be Draco Malfoy. He’s also trying to focus on ANYTHING but that fucking chair and its endless squeakiness. And that’s when Draco starts talking.

“So I’m going on a date with Rick,” _squeak_ , “you remember Rick? Not Richard, Richard is the slightly older one,” _squeak_. “Rick is the brunette, the one who took me to that rooftop bar I told you you should take Granger to,” _squeak-squeak-squeak_. “So, Rick. We’re going for dinner tonight. Not that I’m massively interested in the dining part of this date.” _Squeaaaaak_. 

“He let me tie him up last time,” Draco says, and the chair squeaks twice quickly in succession, and Harry’s quill goes very still and his eyes go very wide, “but you know how it is, you don’t want to traumatise anyone on a first date,” he keeps going and the chair keeps squeaking and Harry’s prick is definitely starting to pay attention to the conversation too, “so you probably don’t go as hard as you could.” _Squeak-squeak._

“STOP,” Harry finally snaps. 

Before he can even think about what he’s doing, he’s walked over to Draco’s desk, around it, and hauled him up to his feet. “I hate this fucking chair, I don’t care that it’s fancy as fuck and you bought it with your own fucking money because the ministry chairs are the worst, I don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna fix it and I’m gonna fix it now.”

But Draco obviously has different ideas. “Harry,” he says, slowly, closing the space between them, so close that Harry can smell his slightly spicy cologne and his mint shampoo. “Is it really my chair that’s bothering you this much?” He glances down and back again and Harry knows he can tell how hard Harry is. He wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

Draco wraps his right arm around Harry’s middle and spins them both around so Harry’s back is to the chair and pushes him down, the chair squeaking the loudest it has ever squeaked. In a surprising turn of events, Harry doesn’t really care about the squeaking anymore as he sinks into it. Draco is looming over him, looking every bit as deliciously dangerous as he does when he duels, when he runs after criminals, when he tells Harry about his stupid fucking dates.

“What do you want, Harry?” He asks, softly, bringing his hand to Harry’s chin and forcing it upwards, so Harry can’t help but lock eyes with him.

He must be mad or ill or dead because, for once in his life, Harry says exactly what he wants, even if it comes out as nothing but a whisper. “Kiss me.”

And Draco does. _Merlin_ , he does. First he leans in, brushes his lips against Harry’s, gently. Then he climbs onto the stupid squeaky chair and straddles Harry who can’t do anything but groan at the contact — at Draco’s hands on his hair, on his chest, Draco’s lips on his, his tongue in his mouth.

Draco breaks away first, looking a little flushed and _a lot less tidy than usual._

“Dawson filed everything you gave him properly?” He asks.

“Mhmm.”

“Then I think we can afford to go home a couple hours early. It’s Friday anyway,” he says against Harry’s lips.

“What about Rich?” He says the name wrong on purpose. 

“He’ll survive. It’s not him I want anyway. I’d much rather tie _you_ to my bed, if you’re amenable” Draco says quietly into his ear, making Harry shiver. He pulls Harry back onto his feet with more grace than Harry could have ever managed himself and with a “I hope you don’t have any plans for the weekend,” he Apparates them both away.

_It’s fine, Harry can fix the chair on Monday._

**Author's Note:**

> There's no classy or shameless way of doing this so here goes: I'm [also on tumblr](https://onbeinganangel.tumblr.com) , I am a wee bit more unhinged over there. Come say hi.


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